


How to Disappear Completely

by aeoleus



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, I promise, literally found family, zuko gets guardianship of kiyi at age 20 and its.. a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: (And Zuko wants to laugh, he does, because he’s twenty-one, and he's the guardian of a five-year-old sister he didn’t even know existed until his mother died in a car crash, and he's legally responsible for his nineteen-year-old sister who’s been admitted for almost a year of her short life, and rent is due, and his temp job doesn’t pay nearly enough, and he wishes he had someone to help, but he has no clue where Uncle is, and no other adult has ever cared enough to help, and he’s tired.He’s just so, so, tired.)[REPOSTED- ACCIDENTALLY ORPHANED]
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Kiyi & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 81
Kudos: 992
Collections: Finished111, Platonic Ship Fics of AtLA





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!  
> This work was orphaned by accident. I’m the original author, so im re-uploading everything as it was originally. Please check my tumblr (ta1k-less) and my profile for links to re-uploaded works or updates. So sorry for the inconvenience!
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------
> 
> hi guys and welcome to this week's edition of "Why the next chapter of 100 golden suns is late"
> 
> This was inspired by "the long way around" by ciaconnaa, linked above :) It's an incredible, heart-wrenching fic, and everyone should read it!!
> 
> I partially blame @agentcalliope who fully enabled this

* * *

Zuko wakes, as he often does, to two small hands on either side of his face. 

“Kiyi,” he mumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes as he reaches forward and pulls his little sister off of his chest. “Why are you awake?” 

A sniffle sounds off from somewhere along his right side and Zuko’s eyes snap open. Kiyi’s lip is wobbling dangerously, her hair falling out of the haphazard bun he put it in before bed. 

“Why are you crying, sunshine?” Zuko whispers, propping himself up on one elbow. Kiyi shakes her head and burrows deeper into Zuko’s side. 

“Miss Mommy.” She mumbles. Zuko rubs her back mechanically. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Me too.” 

He looks over at his alarm clock; 6:02 AM. That’s a normal time for a five-year-old to get up, right?

“You know what I bet would make you feel better?” He asks. 

“What?” 

“If we got hot chocolate before school.” 

Kiyi’s head pops up and she rests her chin on his chest. Zuko reaches forward and wipes an errant tear off of her cheek. 

“I think so, too.” She says solemnly. 

* * *

“Come on, Ki! We’re gonna be late!” Zuko calls down the hall of their apartment, shoving keys and phone and wallet into his pocket. 

“Ready!” 

She skids into the living room, wearing, miraculously, actual clothes, instead of Zuko’s old gi and a pair of shorts like yesterday. Still, she’s chosen a sundress with a pair of old rain boots that Zuko knows have a hole in the back. Zuko glances out the window; thick snow is falling in droves, threatening to white out the entire pane. 

“Leggings and a sweater, little miss.” He informs her. 

Kiyi pouts, dragging down her lip with her finger. “Zukooooooo-“

“Don’t wanna hear it, Ki. If you show up for school in the wrong clothes again, Ms. Song is going to think I’m a terrible big brother.”

“You _are!_ ” She yells, stomping down the hall. Zuko closes his eyes and breathes deep as the door to her bedroom slams.

By the time she reappears in the living room, a navy blue sweater thrown over the dress and bright pink leggings underneath, she clearly regrets her tantrum. 

“You’re not a terrible big brother.” She mumbles as Zuko kneels down to fix her hair- so much lighter than his, so much like Mom’s.

“I don’t wanna be.” Zuko tells her. “Terrible big brothers don’t get hot chocolate for their sisters, do they?”

“No.” 

“I don’t think so, either. Come on, sunshine.” 

* * *

“I know you’re upset that Cho’s Tea was closed, but maybe you’ll like this place better?” Zuko asks, hurrying Kiyi through the door. She shakes snow off of her hat and glances around the tea shop Zuko had hurriedly looked up when they got to the shop they usually went to, and found a sign denoting it as closed for the high holidays. 

It’s a cozy little place. The walls are painted a deep green, with small red motifs. Several tables in the back are devoted to old people bent over a board game Zuko hasn’t played in years, and classical music plays softly over the speakers. 

“Hm.” Kiyi says, crossing her arms. “This’ll do.” 

“Glad you approve, your highness.” Zuko says dryly, nudging her up to the counter. His phone buzzes on his hip and he pulls it out. 

“Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon!” The cashier says. “What can I get for you today?” 

Kiyi stands on tip-toe, peering up at the cashier, and gasps. 

“I love the drawings on your hands!” She says, and that drags Zuko out of his screen. 

The cashier is a tall man with dark skin and bright eyes. His hair is shaven on the sides and pulled back on the top, and dark, intricate lines ink his arms and curl down the tops of his hands.

“Kiyi! That’s not polite-“ 

“Nah, it’s okay, man!” The cashier says, grinning. “They’re tattoos, not drawings, squirt!” He sticks out his hands so she can see. 

Kiyi gapes at them. “Did they hurt?” She asks. 

“A little! But they’re very important to me and my culture.”

“That’s so cool.” Kiyi turns towards Zuko, eyes wide. “Can _I_ get tattoos?” 

“When you’re fifty-five.” Zuko tells her. 

“ _You_ have tattoos-“ 

“I’m fifty-five.” Zuko says, straight-faced. 

The cashier laughs. “What can I get for you two?” 

“A hot chocolate.” Kiyi tells him resolutely.

“Extra whipped cream?” 

“Duh.” 

“ _Kiyi_.” 

“Yes, please.” Kiyi amends. 

“And for you?” He turns towards Zuko. 

“Ah, just a black coffee, please.” He says. The cashier nods and puts in the order. 

“And can I get a name for the order?”

“Kiyi,” Kiyi says. “And that’s Zuko.” 

“Cool!” The cashier bends down and hands Kiyi a sticker of a dragon curled around a tea cup, which she promptly sticks to her winter coat. “My name’s Sokka. Pronounced with an -okka.” 

Kiyi giggles and the cashier- Sokka- smiles at her before straightening back up. 

“Hopefully I’ll see you two back in here soon!” He says to Zuko, handing him his coffee. 

“Hopefully!” Kiyi chirps. 

* * *

  
  


Kiyi’s hot chocolate is nothing but a whipped-cream mustache by the time Zuko parks at her preschool. 

“C’mere-“ he scrubs at her face with the sleeve of her jacket until she wriggles out of his grasp. 

“It’s _fine,_ Zuko, come on-“ she grabs his hand and marches him towards the door. 

“Good morning, Kiyi!” One of the teacher’s aides says cheerfully, kneeling down to help her take off her jacket. 

“Good morning, Mr. Aang!” She says. 

“My, this is quite an outfit you put together today.” He says. 

Kiyi answers something proudly, but Zuko doesn’t hear it. His phone has buzzed again, and he pulls it out to look. 

_Good morning, Mr. Sozin,_ The text reads. _This is Dr. Li from Xai Bau Medical Center. Just wanted to give you an update- Azula did fairly well last night, but she unfortunately became aggressive with a nurse this morning and has had to be placed under twenty-four supervision. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience._

“-uko? You there?” 

Zuko wrenches his face up. Aang is standing in front of him, arms crossed, eyes wide. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Zuko swallows thickly. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He lies. “Were you saying something?” 

“I was just telling you that Kiyi did very well last week. No incidents with her classmates or tantrums.” 

“Th-that’s great.” Zuko rubs the back of his neck. Kiyi had not had an easy time adjusting. They moved to the city almost right after the accident so that Zuko could find work and be closer to Azula. The first couple months had been rough, and she’s only just now starting to be excited about going to school every morning. Zuko looks up. Kiyi’s already playing, building a block tower with a little boy. “She was pretty upset this morning, though. Might want to be on the lookout.” 

Aang nods. “Absolutely. Are you doing okay, Zuko?” 

“Fine.” Zuko smiles thinly. “I’ll see you at pick-up.” 

The car’s freezing when he gets back in, though he can’t have been gone longer than ten minutes. Zuko hurriedly turns the heat on as high as it will go and rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment. 

The bills for Azula’s care are mounting, and Zuko can barely afford the little one-bedroom he has with Kiyi, let alone the hospital. Ursa’s will had left him her bank account, along with his little sister, but he’d used a small amount to pay for Kiyi’s minor hospital bills after the accident and then placed the rest in a savings account. He won’t touch it, even if they become desperate. It’s for Kiyi _._ If he had managed to finish his degree before-

Zuko cuts off that line of reasoning and picks his head up, rubbing his eyes. That’s enough groveling for one day. 

He doesn’t have a choice. Kiyi needs a home, Azula needs medical care, and all three of them need roofs over their heads. What could have been matters far less than what is. And what _is_ is that he’s going to be late for work if he doesn’t stop feeling sorry for himself in the parking lot of Kiyi’s school. 

* * *

“You look happy,” Iroh notes as Sokka cheerfully cleans the coffee machine, a job he usually despises. “Did you do well on your circuits test?”

Sokka’s bright smile dips for just a second. 

“No,” he sighs. “I got a 70. But hey, the class average was a 65! Technically, I’m above average!” 

Iroh chuckles and finished ringing up a young lady with a hazardous amount of curls piled atop her head. 

“So, if not the test, what is it?” He prompts. 

“The cutest kid came in today.” Sokka says. “She was asking me all sorts of questions about my tattoos and her dad was _adorable-_ probably only a couple years older than me. Even had this crazy cool scar on his-“ 

Sokka cuts off as Iroh stills. 

“Are you okay, Iroh?” He asks. 

Iroh looks up to give him a thin smile. “Of course. I miss my family sometimes, is all.” 

Sokka smiles back. 

“I’m sure.” He says softly. “I’m sure you do.” 

* * *

Kiyi manages to get through her school day without major incidents, and Zuko cooks a quick stir-fry for dinner and gets her in bed without a tantrum, which is a bigger accomplishment still. It’s far past midnight, and Zuko honestly meant to go to bed, he did, but he’s gotten another late notice for their electricity bill, so now he’s staring at his computer screen, trying to figure out how to force the numbers to make a sum that they stubbornly refuse to. 

The bills are piling up. 

Rent isn’t terribly expensive- he’d been able to sublease the apartment from a medical student who was moving in her with her brother, but didn’t want to break her lease- but between Azula’s care, the car, groceries, clothes- 

Maybe- 

Maybe he should call- 

No. 

Zuko mindlessly reaches up and feels the corners of his scar, rigid and distorted. No. He won’t call him, even if things get much worse. He won’t let him anywhere _near_ Kiyi. 

Maybe he should sell the car. 

Though it won’t get much of anything, and it’ll only pay for Azula’s care for maybe a few more weeks, and- 

“Zuko?” 

Kiyi is standing in the entrance to the hallway. She’s taken to wearing Zuko’s t-shirts to bed, though they’re far too big and slip down her shoulders. She rubs at her eyes and clutches her stuffed dragon tighter to her chest. “Why are you crying?” 

Zuko touches his hand to his unscarred cheek and finds, surprisingly, that Kiyi’s right, he _is_ crying. 

“I’m okay, sunshine.” He says, and roughly swipes at his face. “Sorry for waking you. Go on back to bed.” 

“You’re sad.” She says stubbornly. “You never go back to bed when _I’m_ sad.” 

“I’m supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.” Zuko points out.

He bites back a wet chuckle when Kiyi rolls her eyes, lets out a huff of annoyance so much like her older sister it makes him ache, and stomps over, climbing up on his lap. 

“Tell me why you’re sad.” She says resolutely, wiping away a stray tear with her little thumb. 

“You’re bossy.” Zuko says instead. 

“Zukoooooooo-” 

“I’m just sad, Ki.” Zuko interrupts her, knowing that if he doesn’t, she’ll continue on until he does. “Sometimes you just get sad for no reason, you know?” 

  
Kiyi nods solemnly and slumps down into him, head on his shoulder. 

  
“Sometimes, I really miss Mommy,” She says. “And sometimes I don’t, but I’m sad for no reason, too.” 

Zuko tightens his arms around her.

“It’s okay to be sad for no reason,” he tells her. She stays still on his shoulder for approximately three seconds before popping her head back up and shoving her dragon in his face. 

“Druk always makes me feel better.” She informs him. “I bet he’d make you feel better, too.”  
  


Zuko laughs, really laughs, and stands, putting Kiyi on his hip, though she’s really too big for it. 

“You know what else would make me feel better?” He asks. “If we watched some Lilo and Stitch.” 

Kiyi gasps and immediately jumps off of him to run to the TV.

* * *

She’s out within ten minutes. Zuko runs his fingers through her short hair, makes sure Druk is secure in her arms, and pulls the blanket higher, just as the social worker shows up to threaten to take Lilo away again. 

He doesn’t sleep much that night, though it helps, when his eyes are burning and his head pounding from exhaustion the next morning, that Kiyi does. 

* * *

Cute young dad is back.

Though, he kinda looks like shit. There are dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and his long dark hair is not quite as sleek and put-together as it was the other day. His hands shake slightly when he hands Sokka his credit card. 

He kinda pulls off the ‘bedraggled-too-busy-to-sleep look’, not gonna lie. 

“You sure you want _three_ extra espresso shots?” Sokka verifies, and the guy- Zuko, it says on his credit card, right, Sokka should have remembered that- gives him a vacant nod. 

“Please.” He says, raspy. 

“Alright dude, it’s your heart attack,” Sokka shrugs and begins to prepare the espresso machine. “Hey, where’s your daughter?” 

Zuko blinks, and the face he makes is so confused Sokka is immediately concerned that he hallucinated that the cute young dad with a scar came in with a kid. 

“My daughter?” Zuko repeats, and then his unscarred eye widens. “Oh! That- Kiyi’s my sister.” 

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to assume. She’s super cute, man.” 

“Yeah.” Zuko agrees, and wraps both of his hands around the black coffee Sokka hands him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Sokka tells him, and watches as he bundles his coat back up and steps out into the horrible Ba Sing Se winter without adding cream or sugar to his bitter monstrosity of a coffee. 

Sokka must still be staring at the door when Iroh walks in, hands full with wrapped goods from the bakery down the street, because he teases,

“Are you waiting for a better job offer to waltz in?”

Sokka comes out from behind the counter to help him. 

“As if.” Sokka scoffs. “I’ll be working here till I die, old man, and then some. I’ll haunt your shop.” 

  
Iroh shrugs. “You wouldn’t be the first.” 

“Well,” Sokka says. “That’s terrifying. Please never say that again.” 

Iroh chuckles and begins unwrapping a box of mooncakes. He hands one to Sokka. “Help me put these in the display case, or I’ll tell you about the ghost who knocks over the supplies in the back closet.” 

“You don’t have to _threaten_ me,” Sokka grumbles, but smiles all the same when Iroh launches into a long story about the old man who owned this building before Iroh bought it. 

Iroh doesn’t talk much about his family. Sokka knows he lost his wife a long time ago, and then his son when he was around Sokka’s age. Sokka knows his nephew lived with him for a few years, and then moved out, and that he has a niece, somewhere out there, but that’s it. 

It’s so obvious how he misses them, especially when Katara drags herself into the shop after a long day of cadaver lab and Iroh immediately fusses over her, or when Aang pops in after school and ducks behind the counter to help Iroh out, and Iroh’s eyes lighten for a moment. 

Sokka knows what it is to have a person-shaped hole in your heart. Even if the hole is old and scarred over, it is there all the same. You can get used to it, after a while, Sokka supposes. Like you’d get used to missing a limb. 

But sometimes, you realize with a jolt of panic that it _is_ missing, and you feel the loss so acutely you can barely stand it. and Sokka knows that’s what Iroh is feeling, as they finish loading the display case, and Iroh briefly touches the watch around his wrist, the initials _LTS_ engraved on the back of the face.

* * *

“Hi, Azula.” 

Zuko sits down on the chair opposite to her, and glances out the locked door’s glass top out of habit; Kiyi is still sitting cross-legged on a waiting-room chair, engrossed with the show Zuko turned on on his phone for her. 

“Hello there, Zu-zu.” Azula purrs, stretching languidly as though she’s still wearing the designer clothes of their youth instead of sweatpants without the string and a threadbare t-shirt that Zuko’s pretty sure was Ty Lee’s at one point. A purple bruise is blossoming under her left eye, a deep scratch over her eyebrow. 

“Didn’t Father teach you that it’s rude to stare?” She snaps, and then draws her fingertips over the bruise, not even flinching. “Don’t worry, the other guy looks worse.” 

“I wasn’t worried.” Zuko says. He pulls out the plastic bag and sets it on the table between them. “I brought you more art supplies.” 

Azula’s eyes widen. 

“How did you-” 

“I do talk to your doctor, Azula. I haven’t abandoned you or anything.” Zuko says wearily, scrubbing at his dry eyes. That stuns Azula into a silence so uncharacteristic that Zuko is a little stunned himself. 

Azula pulls the bag closer to her, but lets go of it quickly, lest Zuko think she actually _wants_ the bright paints inside. 

“How’s the little brat?” Azula asks instead, eyes flicking towards the door. 

“Don’t call her that,” Zuko says automatically, and then sighs. “Kiyi’s doing okay. She’s back in school, finally.” 

“And you, Zu-zu?” Azula crosses her arms. “Are you?” 

Zuko stiffens. “No.” He says shortly. 

“So is _that_ why Father’s not talking to you, or-” 

“Azula!” Zuko interrupts sharply. 

Azula doesn’t flinch- she’s far too conditioned to show any outward fear at a raised tone- but her fist tightens momentarily, and that’s enough for Zuko. 

“I’m not talking to Father because he _abused_ us.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“Azula.” Zuko says again, and turns so his scar is on full display, and the hilarity of this situation- that they’re sitting in a visiting room in a psych ward, Zuko with half-scarred face, Azula with a half-scarred soul, and yet, she’s _still_ denying the damage of their childhood- hits him like a semi-truck. 

And Zuko wants to laugh, he does, because he’s twenty-one, and guardian of a five-year-old sister he didn’t even know existed until his mother died in a car crash, and legally responsible for his nineteen-year-old sister who’s been admitted for almost a year of her short life, and rent is due, and his temp job doesn’t pay nearly enough, and he wishes he had someone to help, but he has no clue where Uncle is, and no other adult has ever cared enough to help, and he’s tired. 

He’s just so, so, so, tired. 

So he does. He laughs, and Azula looks at him like he’s crazy, which makes him laugh more, and suddenly there are tears on his cheeks where there wasn’t before, and Azula is even giggling which is more disconcerting than anything else, so Zuko buries his face in his hands and takes a deep breath. 

When he emerges, Azula is trying to hide a half-smile. 

“I gotta take Ki to get new boots.” Zuko says, and wipes his face again. “But I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll bring you that drink you like. I love you, Azula.” 

Azula doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t make a snide comment, so Zuko’s going to take that as progress. 

* * *

  
  


“Is Azula sick?” Kiyi asks suddenly, in the kid’s shoe section of the store he’s stopped at. Zuko stills where he’s kneeling in front of a shelf of bright pink rain boots. 

“Sort of, yes,” Zuko says. 

“She doesn’t _look_ sick.” Kiyi counters, swinging her socked feet. 

“Well,” Zuko pulls out a pair of boots and hands them to her for inspection. “Do you know how sometimes, if you stay out in the rain, you can catch a cold?” 

Kiyi nods and hops off the stool to model her boots. 

  
“Sometimes that can happen with our brains, too. Azula’s body isn’t sick, but we went through some scary stuff, just like you did, and it hurt her brain. The doctors are helping her brain feel better.” 

“Oh.” Kiyi says, and sits back down. “Is she ever gonna come live with us?”  
“I hope so, Ki.” Zuko says tiredly. Kiyi hands the boots back to him. “These are the winners?” 

Kiyi grins and nods, and carefully starts putting back on her old boots, which have a hole developing in the sole. Zuko glances at the price tag before he closes the box and winces. Guess he’s gonna skip getting coffee for a few days. 

* * *

Some days, Sokka comes into work, and Iroh has a heavy air hanging around him. There are usually dates Sokka can ascribe it to- his wedding anniversary, his son’s birthday- but today is several months from either of those, and yet, Iroh is nearly silent as he rings up customers. 

  
Sokka is extra careful in brewing a cup of jasmine tea from the expensive leaves they have imported from outside Gaoling, and he sets the cup on Iroh’s desk. Iroh looks up from his paperwork with raised eyebrows. 

“To what do I owe this- ah- pleasure?” He teases, though there isn’t much mirth behind it as he drags the cup towards him. 

“Hey, I am _much_ better than I used to be at brewing tea,” Sokka argues, sitting down across from him. 

“That, you are,” Iroh chuckles, and doesn’t even make a face when he takes a sip. “My nephew used to be much worse.” 

“Your nephew who lived with you?” Sokka asks. He knows he’s treading on dangerous ground, tries to keep his tone as even as possible. 

“Yes,” Iroh says heavily, and curls both his hands around the cup. “He was in a bad situation at home. Showed up at my doorstep, back when I lived outside the city. He lived with me for a couple of years before his father called him back home. I haven’t seen him since.” 

“You should call him!” Sokka urges. “C’mon, who doesn’t want to see their uncle-” 

“I’ve lost contact with him.” Iroh interrupts. “His father forced him to change his number and moved him out of the country back to the homeland. Leaving him and his sister alone with that mons-” Iroh cuts off and looks down for a moment, and when he looks back up, his eyes are shiny. “Thank you very much for the tea, Sokka. I am a very lucky old man to have people who care about me so deeply.” 

Sokka knows a dismissal when he sees one, so he gets up, and leaves Iroh, hunched over his cup of jasmine tea, and goes back to the front of the store.

* * *

Zuko’s phone rarely rings during work hours.  
  
Azula’s hospital generally sends text messages unless it’s urgent, and anyone else who would know how to reach him is either dead or gone, so when it rings around two in the afternoon as Zuko is slogging through yet another Excel sheet, he takes notice. 

The caller ID denotes it as Kiyi’s preschool, and that immediately makes his heart jump into his throat, so he hastily picks it up. 

“Hello?” He croaks out. If there was an accident, if something happened to-

“Zuko?” Aang’s voice comes through, slightly tinny. There’s a distant sound of yelling in the background. 

“Yes,” Zuko says. “Is something wrong?” 

“Unfortunately.” Aang sighs. “Kiyi hit another student, and then had a meltdown after snack time, and I’ve tried for almost an hour now to calm her down, but nothing seems to be working. She’s starting to disrupt the rest of the class, and I’m wondering if it would be best if she goes home for the rest of the day.” 

Zuko holds his breath, counts 1-2-3, and lets it out. 

“Of course,” He says, and winces when a particularly high shriek cuts off Aang’s response. “I’m on my way now.” 

* * *

He definitely speeds trying to get across the city, but the tickets are a problem for another day. He hurries into Kiyi’s classroom and finds Aang sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the coat closet. It’s blessedly silent, but Zuko can’t tell if that bodes well or of disaster.  
  


“Hey,” Aang waves and nods towards the closet. “She’s in there. Ms. Song took the rest of the kids out to recess.”  
  
Zuko sighs and takes off his coat. He knocks lightly at the closet door. 

“Hey, Ki, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a sniffle and a mumbled affirmative, and when Zuko opens the door, he finds his sister wedged into the back corner of the closet, knees pulled to her chest. 

“Looks cozy in here.” Zuko says, and crawls in to sit across from her. Kiyi looks up from her knees to suspiciously glare at him for a second before she turns away. 

“Are you mad at me?” She asks tremulously. 

“Mad?” Zuko frowns. “Why would I be mad?” 

“I hit Ruon-Jian!” Kiyi wails. “And you told me I’m not allowed to hit people, and now you’re gonna send me back, and I-I-”

She breaks off into sobs, and Zuko can’t stop himself from picking her up and hugging her close until her crying subsides enough that her breathing is somewhat evened out. 

  
“Kiyi.” Zuko says quietly, and tilts her chin up so she’s meeting his eyes. “I need you to listen to me. There is _nothing_ you could do that would make me send you back. You’re stuck with me forever.” 

“Really?” Kiyi asks. 

“Really.” Zuko affirms, and his heart breaks a little more when Kiyi lets out a half-sob and throws herself back at his chest. “I’m sorry if anything I did made you think I would _ever_ send you back, sunshine. I love you very much.” 

“I love you too.” She says into his shoulder, and then pulls back to rub at her eyes. 

“Now, what’s this about hitting Ruon-Jian?” Zuko asks, raising an eyebrow, and Kiyi immediately ducks her head. 

“He was being mean to me,” Kiyi says, and Zuko looks up towards the front of the closet, where Aang nods. 

“We were discussing jobs,” Aang supplies. “And we went around talking about the jobs of significant adults in the kids’ lives, and Ruon-Jian-”

“He told everyone I don’t have a mommy!” Kiyi yells, and Zuko winces. 

“Well, that wasn’t Ruon-Jian’s place to share,” Zuko tells her. “But we don’t hit people, even when they’re mean to us. We tell adults that we trust, like Mr. Aang.” 

“I _did_ tell Mr. Aang!” Kiyi says indignantly. 

“After you hit him,” Aang says, and there’s a note of amusement in his voice. 

“So, next time?” Zuko prompts. 

“Next time I’ll tell him _before_ I hit Ruon-Jian.” Kiyi grumbles. 

Zuko badly hides a snort and kisses the top of her head before fixing her braids, which are completely in disarray. 

“How about we get out of here, kiddo? Go get a hot chocolate?” 

Kiyi brightens visibly and gets up, running out of the closet while Zuko gathers up her coat and backpack. 

“What do you say to Mr. Aang?” Zuko asks when he finishes buttoning up her coat. Kiyi runs over and gives him a quick hug. 

“Sorry,” she says to his knees.

“That’s alright, Kiyi.” Aang says. “We all have tough days. I hope you feel better tomorrow!” 

“Thanks, Aang.” Zuko says over his shoulder as Kiyi drags him out of the room. 

“Anytime!” Aang chirps. 

* * *

“Ah! My favorite duo!” Sokka says brightly as they enter the shop. 

“Hi!” Kiyi says, thoroughly cheered from her meltdown by Zuko’s insistence on listening to the Moana soundtrack in the car on the way over. She skips up to the counter while Zuko shakes the snow off his shoulders. 

“One hot chocolate, extra whipped cream?” Sokka asks.

“Yes, please!” Kiyi says, and Zuko ruffles her hair while he scrolls through his work email. 

“Good manners, kiddo.” 

“And one black coffee with eight espresso shots for you?” Sokka asks.

“Just two today, actually. I’m actually trying to avoid a heart attack.” Zuko says dryly, and Sokka snorts and turns around to begin making their order. 

“Oh, forgot this machine was on the fritz this morning,” Sokka frowns. “Yo, boss!” He calls to the back of the store. “Did you fix the espresso machine like you said you were gonna?” 

“Sokka, I had thought than an engineering student would be more than capable of-“ 

  
A too-familiar voice, raspy and slow and thickly-accented, comes from the back room, and Zuko freezes at the counter. 

“-as simple as an espresso machine. I am an old-“ 

A man appears in the back doorway, glasses on the edge of his nose, hair still long, but more salt than pepper now, looking down at some papers, and Zuko can barely breathe. 

Uncle looks up from his papers, and when he meets Zuko’s stare, his eyes widen. Sokka is chattering away in the background, and Kiyi is saying something to him, but Zuko can’t hear either of them. 

“Zuko?” Uncle croaks as the papers drop out of his hands. “Zuko, is it really you?” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reunions and discussions and sick days, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! i meant to post this later this week, but everything sucks all the time, so I figured, why not just post it now?  
> As always, massive thanks to my beta, @agentcalliope (tumblr and ao3)!

* * *

Uncle crosses the distance between them, stepping over his dropped papers as though they couldn’t matter less, and before Zuko can even force a breath into his lungs, Uncle has wrapped him in a tight hug. 

“Uncle?” He asks, choked, and Uncle just holds tighter. “I- how?” 

“I’ve missed you so much, my nephew.” Uncle says, and Zuko lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

He’d left Uncle’s house as a naive eighteen-year-old, desperate enough to believe his father’s lies of reconciliation and regret even over Uncle’s warnings that his younger brother did not possess a morsel of guilt in his body. He remembers harsh words to the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally, a slammed door, a stiff hug at the airport. 

Leave it to Uncle to hold absolutely none of that against him. 

Uncle lets go, and when he puts a soft hand on Zuko’s cheek, his eyes are shiny. 

“Oh, my nephew.” He says, rough. Zuko has to look down, can’t handle the enormity of his gaze. “What are you doing in Ba Sing Se?” 

“I-” 

The complexity of the answer to that question is what reminds him, finally, that a small hand is still clasped around the bottom of his jacket. Kiyi has a confused expression on her face, her little brows furrowed. 

Zuko takes her hand and squeezes, once, twice, three times. To comfort himself or Kiyi, he doesn’t know. 

Uncle, ever perceptive, seems to realize that a child is attached to him, and shakes himself. 

“And who is this lovely young lady?” He asks, plucking the hot chocolate out of Sokka’s shell-shocked hands and crouching down to hand it to her. 

“Kiyi.” Zuko manages to find his voice. “My- my sister.” 

Uncle’s eyes grow wide. 

“You found your mother-?” 

Zuko shakes his head as Kiyi’s hand tightens in his. “Car crash.” He says quietly. “Kiyi lives with me now.” 

A brief expression of something deep and painful passes over Uncle’s face and is gone just as quick. 

“I am so sorry we are only just meeting, Kiyi. I’m your Uncle Iroh.” 

“Oh!” Kiyi says. “Oh, Zuko talks about you!” 

“He does?” Uncle asks, eyebrows raised, a small smile on his face, and Kiyi nods enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! Mostly when he’s making tea and thinks he’s doing it wrong.” 

Uncle chuckles and stands back up, wiping his face with his sleeve. 

“I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am to see you. Please, please, come upstairs to my apartment, I’ll make us an early dinner. I want to hear everything you’ve been up to.” 

“But what about the cafe?” Zuko doesn’t even know why he’s protesting- he’s thought so many times about the quiet, riotous years he spent with Uncle, filled with both misplaced anger and absolute peace. He’s wanted so many times to have Uncle by his side when he’s navigating Kiyi’s school events, drowning in decisions at Azula’s appointments. To be able to fall asleep on his couch in the afternoon one more time, and be woken by the smells of dinner being made. 

“Sokka can watch it.” Uncle says firmly, and Sokka seems to shake himself. 

_“This_ is _the_ nephew?” Sokka demands. 

“It is.” Uncle says. 

“He’s been coming here for like a week, Iroh!” Sokka throws his hands up. “I could have witnessed this reunion a _week_ ago!” 

Uncle’s mouth twitches. 

“Fate has a funny way of bringing people together when they need it most.” He says, and Zuko can’t stop the snort that escapes his mouth. Uncle and his proverbs. 

Uncle beckons him towards the backdoor, and Zuko picks Kiyi up, settling her on his hip as he follows him up a narrow flight of stairs, still not quite sure this isn’t all a particularly vicious daydream that he’s about to wake up from. 

* * *

His nephew has changed. 

That is the first and almost only thought Iroh has, other than the steady, urgent stream of questions about Zuko’s life and well-being, his little sister that’s clearly deeply attached to him, his mother, his living situation- 

Zuko has always been jumpy, a little bit too poised to run. Iroh will not scare him off. 

He looks older. Of course, he should- it’s been nearly three years since he saw him last. His hair is longer, pulled back in a half-traditional top-knot, pieces still hanging down in front of his more-defined jaw. He’s taller. A large tattoo peeks out from underneath his shirt collar. 

But it’s his demeanor, really, that scares and makes Iroh proud in almost equal proportions. 

Because his nephew is exhausted in a way Iroh hasn’t seen in much longer than three years. The weariness, the _wariness,_ it seems to pervade down to his bones in a way that is awfully wrong for a twenty-one year old, but it doesn’t stop him from interacting with his younger sister as lovingly and energetically as though he’s known Kiyi her entire life, instead of just six months. 

Iroh has finished doing the dishes from dinner after steadfastly refusing Zuko’s help in cleaning, and leans against the doorway into the living room. Zuko is sitting on the couch, staring off into the distance. Kiyi is curled up asleep in his lap, and he’s absent-mindedly brushing through her hair with his fingers. 

“You have guardianship?” Iroh asks quietly, so as not to wake the child. Zuko still flinches, and Iroh takes a breath. That has not changed, no matter how much time has passed. But Zuko recovers, and nods as Iroh sits down opposite him and places a tray with mugs and a teapot on the table between them. 

“I got a call about six months ago.” Zuko says. “Mom- Mom had died in a car crash.” Zuko’s hand stills over his sister’s head, like he’s trying to protect her. “Kiyi was in the back seat.” 

“Zuko.” Iroh says softly. “I am so sorry.” 

Iroh has complicated feelings about his sister-in-law, and navigating them is not made any easier by her untimely demise. But for Zuko’s sake, Iroh can make them simple.   
  


“It was really tough for a bit.” Zuko’s eyes have a familiar faraway look in them. “Wasn’t a good time for any of us.” 

“What about Kiyi’s father?” Iroh pushes a mug towards his nephew, hopes the heat and familiar taste grounds him a little bit. Zuko gives a half-shrug. 

“He was never in her life. When they tracked him down, he refused custody. It was me or the system.” 

“And your father allowed this?” Iroh raises an eyebrow. The idea of Ozai allowing a child of Ursa’s not fathered by him into his home is as ludicrous a concept as he can think of. 

“I-I left home.” Zuko says. “About a year ago. I tried to find you, but-” 

“I had moved already. I’m so sorry, my nephew.” Iroh says, winces. “Why did you come to Ba Sing Se, then, if you didn’t know I was here?” 

Zuko’s face falls. 

“Azula,” he says, quiet. “She was admitted last year. I, uh, moved to be closer to her.”

“Admitted?” 

“Dad moved her out of the country.” Zuko’s voice hardens. “Didn’t want her ‘problems’ to bring dishonor on the family.” 

“Is she still in treatment?” Iroh asks. 

Zuko nods. “She has good days and bad days.” He says quietly. Kiyi stirs in his lap, and he rests his hand on her shoulder. “It’s been hard.” 

Iroh can’t stop himself from circumventing the table, taking his nephew’s head in both hands and kissing his forehead.

“You have taken on so much for someone so young, my nephew.” Iroh says, and Zuko makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to have found you, no matter how coincidental it was. I am here for whatever you need. Whenever you need it.” 

“Thank you, Uncle.” Zuko says, and Iroh holds his forehead to his nephew’s for a moment. “Really. I really missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Zuko.” Iroh says softly. 

* * *

“Zuko, wake _up!_ ” 

Well, these two little hands aren’t soft. One pinches his cheek, and Zuko blindly swats up until he hits something solid. 

“Ouch!” Kiyi says indignantly. Zuko reaches up and pulls the pillow over his head. 

  
“Five more minutes, Ki.” 

The pillow gets pulled off his head. 

“No!” Kiyi says, far too loudly for whatever-it-is-AM-o’clock. “Uncle Iroh said to come get breakfast before school and we’re not gonna have time if you don’t get up!” 

Well, that wakes him up. Zuko blinks blearily, and finds his sister sitting on his chest, arms crossed, expression determined. 

“Are you awake now?” She demands. 

“Absolutely not.” Zuko says, and, in one fluid movement, throws Kiyi off of him and into a pile of pillows on the other side of the futon. “Ah, now that the parasite’s off of me, I feel _so_ much better!” 

“I am _not_ a _parasite!"_

“Parasites can’t talk.” 

_“Zuko!”_

* * *

  
  


Only Sokka is at the counter when Kiyi skips up. 

“Good morning!” She chirps, and Sokka turns around, giving her a bright, wide smile. Despite the near-freezing temperatures outside, Zuko feels warmer than he has in days. 

“The prodigal kids return!” Sokka says. “The usual?” 

“The usual.” Kiyi says solemnly. 

“You got it, dude.” Sokka says, and then flashes Zuko a grin. “I’m under strict orders to not allow you your heart attack concoction.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko raises an eyebrow. “Who-” 

“My own nephew, a coffee-drinker!” Uncle appears in the doorway, one hand draped over his eyes. “How could a member of my own family betray me so?” 

“Zuko’s not allowed to drink coffee?” Kiyi asks, wide-eyed. Sokka hands her a hot chocolate, and waves off Zuko’s credit card. 

“We are _tea_ drinkers, Kiyi.” Uncle says, offering her his hand. Kiyi takes it happily. “I don’t know what your brother’s been teaching you, but it’s not right.” 

“Dramatic.” Zuko says, and Sokka snorts.

“You’re telling me.” Sokka says. “Some days I think I work in a theater instead of a tea shop.” 

“Don’t tell stories, Sokka,” Iroh warns. “I’ll fire you like that.” He snaps his fingers, and Sokka looks deeply unimpressed. 

“You can try it.” He shrugs. “Don’t think it’ll stick. I have _tenure_ , old man.” 

Iroh chuckles, and gestures at Zuko. “Come, come, I made breakfast- your favorite, Zuko.” 

Iroh leads them upstairs, and for once, Zuko gets to sit in one place, and have a breakfast he didn’t cook, and just not worry. 

* * *

It is terrifyingly easy to fall into a routine. Zuko takes Kiyi to the cafe before school to have breakfast with Uncle, and a couple of nights a week, they have dinner there as well. Zuko knows- he _knows-_ that Uncle is not his father or his mother, that he won’t abandon them, that the only reason they lost touch in the first place was because of Zuko messing up yet _again_ , but it doesn’t stop him from being cautious. 

Zuko doesn’t think Kiyi can take losing someone else she loves. 

(Zuko won’t admit it, but he doesn’t think he can, either.) 

  
  


When his alarm goes off on a Friday morning, and there’s not a Kiyi-sized lump wedged into his side, something trips a dull alarm bell in the back of his brain. Zuko rolls off the futon and trudges down the hallway, yawning. 

“Kiyi,” He knocks lightly at her door, opening it. The covers are pulled over her head, her lights still out. That’s a little bit odd, since Kiyi is usually up before him, but Zuko shakes it off. It’s the middle of the winter. Who wants to be up before the sun? 

“Ki, time for school.” Zuko shakes her shoulder lightly. No response but a groan. “Come on, sunshine, Uncle Iroh promised to make pancakes this morning for you, remember?” 

“Don’t feel good.” Kiyi moans, muffled, and Zuko’s heart jumps. He immediately strips back her blankets. She’s curled into a tight ball, her hair matted to her forehead with sweat, her face flushed. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Zuko pushes back her hair- her forehead is _burning_ to the touch. 

“My tummy hurts,” Kiyi whimpers. Her eyes go wide and she claps a hand over her mouth, sitting straight up. “Zuko-” 

“Oh, _fuck-”_

Kiyi sits straight up, throws up over the side of her bed, and immediately bursts into noisy tears. 

* * *

Iroh’s phone rings as he’s finishing setting the table for breakfast, humming to himself. 

“Good morning, nephew!” Iroh says cheerfully. 

“Uncle,” Zuko sounds ragged and panicked, and Iroh can hear crying in the background. 

“Zuko?” He puts down the plate in his hand. “Zuko, what’s going on?” 

“Kiyi’s sick,” Zuko says. “She won’t stop throwing up and she’s got a fever and I don’t know what to do, she’s been crying for almost an hour, I-I-” 

“Okay, okay, breathe.” Iroh soothes. “I’m coming over right now.” 

“Uncle, she’s really sick, what do I-” 

“Zuko, it’s all going to be okay. I’ll be over as soon as I can.” 

* * *

  
Iroh turns the key Zuko gave to him last week in the lock and opens the door, shutting it quietly. The dark apartment is silent instead of the chaos Iroh was expecting, and he’s almost more concerned that it is. 

“Hello?” He calls. 

“In here.” Zuko’s raspy voice comes from the end of the small hallway. 

Iroh finds them in the bathroom. Kiyi is asleep, and Zuko’s hunched against the shower door, looking nearly as miserable as the obviously sick girl in his lap. The air smells of vomit, and there’s a wet rag sitting next to Zuko. 

“She just fell asleep a few minutes ago.” Zuko whispers. “I-I’m sorry for bothering you, I just didn’t know what to do, she’s so _sick-_ ” 

“Zuko.” Iroh cuts him off, crouching down. “Do _not_ apologize to me again. Of course I came to help you, you’re not a bother.” 

That, of all things, causes his nephew, who went three weeks in a burn unit without crying, to tear up. Zuko ducks his head, one hand pushing into his eyes. 

  
“Sorry, sorry-” He gasps, and then cringes. “I- I haven’t had any help since I got Kiyi-” 

“Oh, nephew.” Iroh crouches down, pushing his long hair out his face. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you, but I’m here now, and I will not leave you.” 

“It’s been so _hard_.” Zuko whispers. 

“I know. I know.” 

Zuko takes a deep, shuddering breath, and pulls Kiyi closer. “She hasn’t been sick with me before. I was freaked out.” 

“It’s always scary when someone we love is suffering.” Iroh says. “I’m here to help. Come, give me Kiyi. I’ll put her on the futon so you can shower and get dressed.” 

Zuko carefully maneuvers the sleeping girl into Iroh’s arms. Iroh carries her into the living room while Zuko turns on the shower. Kiyi, blessedly, doesn’t wake when Iroh sets her down, nor when he checks her temperature. She’s certainly feverish, but not nearly high enough to cause concern. It really seems to just be a stomach bug. 

Iroh tucks her in, turns on a movie for some background noise, and sets about brewing ginger tea for his niece. He even deigns to turn on the coffee machine for his traitor nephew, keeping as quiet as he can. 

There are stacks of bills, mostly unpaid, laying on the counter, along with notes written in Zuko’s careful, small hand-writing. Most seem to be from Azula’s hospital, though some seem older, and others more urgent. Iroh is about to pick up what appears to be Zuko’s plan to not get evicted this month when he emerges from the shower in fresh sweats and one of his old high school t-shirts, hair wet and face flushed, but looking somewhat more put-together. Iroh hands him the cup of coffee. 

“Work?” Iroh asks, when Zuko settles down at the table next to him instead of going to get dressed. Zuko shakes his head, glancing over at Kiyi, who is still fast-asleep with a trash can set next to her. 

“I- I called out.” Zuko says. “I just don’t want to leave her.” His eyes are determined when he tilts his head up, as though he expects Iroh to challenge him. 

As if Iroh could possibly disagree with him on this. He’d taken a leave of absence when Zuko showed up on his doorstep with a barely-healed burn marring a third of his face, feverish and hurt and so, so, so, angry. He’d spent nearly three weeks in the hospital at his side, and even longer working from home until Zuko felt ready to try and go to school. 

(He hadn’t had the chance to do it for Lu Ten. He wasn’t going to give up the chance to do it for Zuko. Or now, for Kiyi.) 

That his nephew grew up with a monster for a father and an absentee for a mother, and still, _still_ , learned to love so fiercely, so deeply, makes Iroh’s chest burn. 

“Of course, Zuko.” Iroh says. “I would do the same.” 

Zuko slumps down, resting his head on his arm and staring at the back of the futon. “I was so worried when she didn’t wake me up this morning.” 

“Does she usually wake you up?” 

Zuko lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Most nights.” He glances at Iroh. “She gets nightmares.” 

“And you?” Iroh asks. “Do you still get nightmares?” 

Zuko is quiet for a minute. 

“Sometimes.” He says. 

Iroh knows what _sometimes_ means to his nephew, how it doesn’t quite mean to him what it means to other people. And if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, he’s not sleeping well the rest of the time, either. 

“Did you continue with therapy, nephew?” Iroh asks, though he already knows the answer. 

“Can’t afford it.” Zuko says bluntly. “Kiyi’s growing so quick, she always needs new clothes, and Azula-” Zuko cuts off. “Azula needs it more than me.” 

The bills in the kitchen had denoted Zuko as Azula’s Power of Attorney, as well as the primary contact for her costs. Iroh thinks of the multiple estates his younger brother owns, the assets held in offshore accounts, the zeros upon zeros upon zeros that finish out his bank statements, and for the thousandth time in weeks, feels a rage grow white-hot in his chest. 

“While I am incredibly grateful that Azula is getting help,” Iroh says firmly. “There is no ‘ _needs more’_ , my nephew. You both have been through a great deal of trauma, and you both deserve to get the help you need.” 

“That’s all good and well, Uncle, but I can’t afford it!” Zuko says tightly, his hands gripping the mug, his voice rising steadily. “I’m happy you’re here now, but I’ve been on my own for a _year_ , and when it’s not Kiyi having meltdowns in class, it’s Azula attacking a nurse and getting placed in isolation, or-or my rent is late, or I can’t afford new shoes for Kiyi, or my mom dying after she _left_ me with the asshole who held my face down in a fireplace, or-” 

Zuko breaks off, very suddenly, when there’s a startled gasp from the futon, and Kiyi says in a high, scared voice, 

“Zuko?” 

Zuko darts across the room before Iroh can even get up from his chair and gathers Kiyi in his arms. 

“I-I heard yelling,” Kiyi’s lip wobbles. 

“Oh, baby,” Zuko whispers, and all of the anger seems to have melted out of his shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“I don’t _feel good.”_ Kiyi whimpers into his chest, burying her head. “Scared me.” 

Zuko bites his lip and looks down, his shoulders hunching up to his head, and Iroh’s reaching his breaking point, he really is- 

  
“Ms. Kiyi!” He bustles over, Children’s Motrin in hand, a plate of crackers in the other. “I heard you weren’t feeling well.” 

“No.” Kiyi’s eyes match her brother’s, Iroh notices. In gold and in wide, scared, pain. “My tummy.” 

“Well, luckily, I have a solution to fix all that.” Iroh holds up the Motrin, and gestures to the TV. “How about some medicine, and a movie?” 

* * *

Zuko doesn’t let go of his sister, not even when she throws up her medicine half-an-hour later, not when she finally settles back down, dead asleep in his arms. He stares at the TV screen blankly, only looking up when Iroh sets a sandwich and a glass of water down in front of him.

“I’m sorry for yelling.” Zuko says quietly. “You’ve already done too much. I was so ungrateful.” 

“You were frustrated-” Iroh starts placatingly.

“No.” Zuko cuts in. “No, you don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my anger again. This is my stuff, and you don’t need to get dragged in.” 

Well, Iroh’s reached his breaking point. 

“Zuko.” Iroh scrubs at his face. “Zuko, my nephew. Listen to me. The man you’re becoming, the man you’ve become- I am immeasurably proud. You’re kind, and so selfless, and the love you have for your sisters- Zuko, I have never been so proud in my life. But as much as you’ve grown, you’re still only twenty-one, nephew. The burden you’re carrying would be too much for someone twice your age, and with half of the sadness you carry along with it. Zuko,” He tilts his nephew’s chin up. “Let me share the load.” 

“But,” Zuko breaks, and tightens his hold on Kiyi, who sleeps on, oblivious. “But, you’re _happy-_ you have your shop, and those kids who come by, and all I’ve ever done is be an ungrateful burden and drag you down-” 

“You have _never_ been a burden.” Iroh says firmly. “Never, not once in your life, no matter what others may have told you. You’ve been a pain, sure,” Iroh adds, when Zuko makes a disbelieving noise. “But a burden? Drag me down? Zuko, _never._ Please, nephew. It would be my honor if you would let me help.” 

Zuko stares at him, eyes wide, bags underneath larger, and he nods imperceptibly. 

“Okay.” He whispers. 

Iroh feels a rush of relief and lets out a breath. He kneels and presses a kiss to Zuko’s forehead, frowning when Zuko’s skin is hot and clammy to the touch. 

“Hm. Zuko, is your stomach-” 

In one swift movement, Zuko places Kiyi down, then leans over the side of the bed and vomits into the well-placed trash-can. He emerges after a minute, face flushed, and rests his head on the edge of the trash can. Iroh chuckles and wipes off his nephew’s sweaty forehead. 

  
“Well, that answers my question.” 

“Uncle,” Zuko groans. 

“Go to sleep, Zuko.” Iroh advises softly. “I’m right here.”

* * *

  
His niece and nephew sleep through most of the afternoon. 

Iroh sets about making a simple soup for dinner and going through Zuko’s bills, and even manages to find Zuko’s apartment contract, sorting everything into more manageable piles. 

There’s a notepad amongst the mess, where Zuko’s scribbled down the names of some online universities, and it takes Iroh a minute to decipher it. Zuko’s also written down credits that he’s apparently already taken. Iroh stares at it, and then glances over at the living room, where Zuko’s long hair has fallen out of it’s bun, half-covering his face. His arms are loosely wrapped around Kiyi, who seems half-awake, but hasn’t made a move to get up. 

Zuko was in college.

Zuko wants to go back to college. 

Iroh thinks of the fifteen-year-old in a burn unit, curled up small on his bed, who had no plans or aspirations other than to survive the next hour, and a swell of emotion makes Iroh’s throat close up. 

Iroh will do whatever it takes to make sure Zuko is able to do anything he wants. 

* * *

The stomach bug passes within twenty-four terrible, feverish hours, and Kiyi returns to school and Zuko to work, and their routine continues. 

Uncle calls him one morning, and tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s picking up Kiyi from school, and that Zuko should take the afternoon to himself and come over later for dinner. 

For the first few hours, Zuko just doesn’t know what to do with himself. He cleans the apartment- even straightens out Kiyi’s room, though she should really do it herself- does the laundry, and tries, again, to re-do his budget. And when that’s done, he cleans again, even scrubbing the bathroom and the kitchen spotless. 

After he’s exhausted all of his options, Zuko glances down at his watch. It’s only 5, and Uncle will yell at him if he shows up before 7:30 PM. 

So he does something he hasn’t done in a long time. 

He watches a non-kid friendly TV show. 

And he takes a nap. 

* * *

“ZUKO!” A small pink blur barrels into him and wraps its arms around his waist. Zuko grins and hoists her up. 

“Hi, sunshine! Did you have a good afternoon with Uncle Iroh?” Zuko asks. Kiyi nods vigorously. 

“We went to the store after school, and then I got to help out Sokka in the cafe, and Mr. Aang came in! He’s friends with Sokka, so I made cookies with him, and then we came up here and-” 

  
Kiyi keeps chattering as Zuko moves into the apartment and takes in the uncharacteristic disarray around him. There are several boxes and picture frames leaning against the wall, a couple labeled _Lu Ten_ , a couple more labeled _Zuko._

“Uncle?” Zuko questions. “What are you doing?” 

Uncle shrugs. “I told you, I have two extra bedrooms and a study.” 

“Yes?” Zuko raises his eyebrows. 

“Well, I don’t think Azula will take too kindly to sleeping in a study once she is discharged, and I thought you might like your own bedroom, instead of sleeping on a futon in the living room.” 

Zuko stares at him. Uncle just keeps chopping vegetables, nonchalantly humming, as though he hasn’t dropped a bomb and walked away. 

“Wha-“ Zuko splutters, and puts down Kiyi, who starts squirming in his arms, and walks over to the kitchen. _“What?”_

“Zuko.” Uncle says, dumping the vegetables into the wok on the stove. “Would you and Kiyi like to move in?” 

Would they like to- 

Zuko can’t think of anything he’d like _more._

He slumps down into his Uncle, who chuckles and puts down the knife, moving so that his arms are around Zuko’s shoulders. 

“Yes,” he mumbles into Uncle’s shirt as Uncle strokes his hair, and he can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed when his eyes turn wet. “Yes, please.” 

* * *

**_Six months later_ **

The warm evening summer breeze pushes in Iroh’s curtains as he makes dinner in the kitchen, the radio playing softly on the counter. 

“We’re doing Rainbow Road.” Azula says resolutely in the living room. 

“Azulaaaaa,” Kiyi groans, rolling into her sister’s lap. Azula makes a disgusted noise and makes a valiant show of trying to get Kiyi off of her, holding the controller over her head. Kiyi just giggles and holds on tighter, and Azula rolls her eyes and lets her stay. “That’s too hard. Pick another race.” 

“No.” Azula says. “You should learn early that _life_ is hard. We’re doing Rainbow Road, and you’re gonna _like_ it-” 

“Will you two _quiet down_!” The door to Zuko’s bedroom flies open. He stands in the doorway, laptop in one hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m trying to take my math quiz!” 

“Why are you wasting your time on that? I’ll just do it for you, _and_ I’ll get a better grade.” Azula holds out an expectant hand, but Zuko scowls and pulls his laptop away. 

“No! I’m taking it myself. Can you just be _quiet,_ for like, fifteen minutes, and then you can be as loud as you want-” 

“Azula is trying to make me do Rainbow Road!” Kiyi interrupts indignantly, climbing up on the couch to reach her siblings’ heights and get their attention. “Zuko, make her change it!” 

Zuko turns his gaze over at Azula, who shrugs nonchalantly, examining her nails. 

“She needs to learn life lessons.” She says by way of explanation. 

“She’s _six_.” Zuko raises an eyebrow. “Do something easier.” 

Azula sighs, but switches the race while Kiyi cheers. 

“Only for you, brother.” Azula says. 

“Thank you, oh magnanimous one.” Zuko says dryly, and Iroh holds in a chuckle when he stalks back into his room and shuts the door with a decisive click. 

The video game starts up, and his nieces begin shouting at each other, Kiyi standing to get a better view while Azula yells. 

Zuko appears again after a few minutes and flops down on the couch, watching his sisters play. He pulls out his phone, adjusting only slightly when Kiyi climbs up on the couch to sit on his stomach, and interjects every once in a while to scold Azula when she swears. 

And Iroh stands in the kitchen, and listens to the ruckus they make, and thinks there isn’t a sound sweeter in the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is @ta1k-less!! Hmu!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [How to Disappear Completely [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108514) by [Rionaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rionaa/pseuds/Rionaa)




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